A Weekend in Saint Louis

("sept-place" bargaining)

Around 4pm, we arrived at the bus station-like place to get two "sept places" for Saint Louis. "Sept places" are eight seater station wagons (seven, really because of the driver) that you pay to drive you places. When we got to the station, however, to our surprise, we found some guy who had a 15-seater van willing to accept 3500 fCFA per seat. In comparison to the "sept place," this sounded like a great deal because we wouldn't have to take two separate cars (we were a group of 8) and could sit comfortably for the same price. Once we all piled into the van, the driver then informed us that the price was 3500fCFA... per seat... meaning we would have to pay for all 15 seats.

(within the ngiaga ndiaya)

So we get off the bus, pissed of course, and some other guy comes up to us telling us about some 2800fCFA per head deal. We clarify that its per head, not per seat, and agree to go. We all pile into this bus and pay 10000fCFA as down payment. At some point, we realize that the bus we were now sitting in was a "ngiaga ndiaya". What does this mean? Ngiaga Ndiayas stop along the route to the destination and pick up people as we go. Basically, what we knew it to mean was that it would take 5-6 hours to get to Saint Louis isntead of 3-4 hours. We tried getting our money back after this realization, but to no luck. What ended up happening in the end, though, was Josh and Laura got off and took a sept place (because of PB and D) while the rest of us roughed it.

Our "direct" what we thought would be 5-6 hr Ngiaga Ndiaya road trip up to Saint Louis ended up taking 8+ hours. Within the actual Ngiaga Ndiaya, we sat 5 people a row in what shouldve been 3-4 person rows. The road trip officially became an adventure when we pulled onto the highway and got hit by another bus. We lost our driver's side-view mirror. Then, maybe an hour into the trip, we for an unknown reason got pulled over by the Po-po. All this time, we were sitting with no leg room whatsoever (in fact, there was a hole beneath my feet so everytime we went over a puddle, my legs got splashed), windows down, bugs swarming towards our overheated perspirating bodies. By the end of the 8 or so hours, we had stopped only 3 times at rest stops, one of which wasn't really even a break so much as the entire bus unloading to go see a person who got hit by a car. In the meantime, Laura texted Mairead and told her that she and Josh had arrived at 8pm to only be pleasantly surprised by a really awesome hostel and friendly gentlemen who provided them Ceebujen (the national Senegalese dish which Saint Louis is famous for). After we arrived at Saint Louis past 12 am, we piled all 6 of us into one taxi and got to the hostel only for our taxi driver to ask Cait for a goodnight "bessous" (kiss).

(our hostel... it reminded by of the Real World)

(mmm mmm café crème)

(cool artist who goes by Bobey)

(kerry, me, cait, and josh)

We woke up the next morning and ventured around town. We found this fantastic patisserie where had the most amazing pasteries and cafe creme, ever. Also, we went to the most beautiful beach that Ive seen yet in Senegal (called Hydrobase), however the dead goat and the dog who peed on the dead goat and also getting harassed by locals took a tiny bit away from it. At night, we ate at this toubab restuarant along the river and then walked home for some beers. Josh taught us this cool intuition drinking game, which we played for a while. And then we finished off the remainder of the beers with an equally as fun and new game introduced by Cait; By the time we finished our beers, there was only myself, Kerry, Josh, and Cait left. We then decided to go to a bar where we played Kings Cup. By around 3 or 4 am, Josh and I, who were the last ones up, went to bed only to hear Laura talking in her sleep ( she said something along the lines of "yeah, i'd like that").

(me, Cait, Paulina, Laura, Josh, Mairead, Licia, and Kerry)

The next morning we went back to the Patisserie and ordered delicious omelettes, and of course, more cafe creme. We left in two separate "sept-places" (for whatever reason, we chose not to take the Ngiaga Ndiaya again). The ride back was pretty intense for everyone in the car-- though a bit less for me because I was reading Josh's the Red Tent. We started off by almost hitting a boy who was leaning too far into the road; at some point Laura saw a guy standing butt naked in the street; at another, it started to pour... into the car. The driver was a huge prick and would not stop the car when we asked him to, not even when Laura started to cry, or when everyone else in the car (even the 3 native senegalese passengers) started to scream at him.

When we finally got back to Dakar (it was only a 4ish hour trip this time around), they got me my own taxi (because i live so far from everyone else) for 1500 fCFAs. As everyone else I was with walked away towards their own taxi, all these local Senegalese men started to yell 1500fCFA at me and tell me to go sit in this empty taxi. I didn't know what to do, so I went to the taxi, opened the door, and sat inside. After two or so mintes, some guy walked up to the car and told me to get out. Once I got out, all the men from earlier were now screaming 1500fCFAs and telling me to get into their cars. I ended up just following the guy who got me in teh first place and got into his car. By now I had no idea what was goign on, so I called Laura. She didnt pick up. Then two other guys got into the car as well. I said hello to everyone in the car in Wolof and we had a brief conversation about my (in)ability to speak Wolof. They then started to talk to each other too quickly for me to follow in Wolof. This is about the time I started to freak out a bit. I very casually got out my phone and then called Josh. I dont even know why I even bothered to call, its not like they could do anything from where they were. Before I hung up with Josh, one guy had already gotten out of the car. The other gyu started giving orders to teh driver to go through all these alleyways and back routes; we took so many turns that I lost track of where we were. Finally, we pulled in front of some house and he got out as well. Thank God.

I eventually arrived home to my host family at 7pm or so, and was pleasantly surprised by running water. Before leaving for Saint Louis, I was somethign like 8 for 10 in bucket showers. I was so happy, in fact, that I almost cried. This awesome weekend then finished off with some delicious Yassa Porc, which was probably one of the best dinners Ive had since being here.

not the one in Missouri

nothing but a purse, flashlight, and

5,000 fCFA x2 (=$20 USD)- round trip busfare to Saint Louis

5,000 fCFA x2 (=$20 USD)- two nights at hostel

+ 10,000 fCFA (=$20 USD)- food and spending $$

= a weekend at Saint Louis, Senegal.

We were slightly hesitant about actually going because it was raining this morning, but its looking like we're gonna go. Yes, the the dirt roads might be flooded; yes, they might even be closed; but hell, it'd be nice to get a weekend away from little kids screaming at the top of their lungs 24/7.

I'll update once I get back from this adventure.

excerpts from the moleskin

Just a sneakpeak, in no particular order:

"living far from school and everyone is going to end up being a slight financial burden, but has been a door to great opportunities. I usually take the bus to and from classes which costs 150 fCFA ( something less than a quarter) each way. When I travel elsewhere, I usually take the taxi, klondo, or car rapide. Taxi fares here are bargained-- you have to agree on a price with the driver before you get in. You'll get a better price if you speak to the driver in Wolof. Klondos are unmarked and shared taxis, basically, hitchhiking. Because they techniqually arent legal, you pay less to ride them. Car rapides are colorful buses which drive directly down one road. You jump onto an insanely crowded vehicle and often have people sitting (literally) on your lap."

"being a toubab in Senegal has been interesting, coming from an asian background, for many reasons. Foremost, there is a surprising number of similarities between African and Chinese culture. [ill go into this more in another post] Second, I get a lot of "jackie chan" and "ching chong..." remarks when i walk down the street. To my surprise, sort of, I feel like I get it easier as a foreigner because I am not white. One of our professors, for instance, seems to like myself, Eva, and Josh-- the two asians and the canadian."

"Licia and I went to the beach and the kids were throwing rocks at us. After that, it was SO hard to keep a level mind and remember that they are just kids and by no means a reflection of everyone else. Its so hard not to respond to hate with hate. Although slightly off topic, I think they were only aiming at Licia. I wonder if this has to do with the race thing as well..."

“the secret to a successful bucket shower : with the smaller bucket- ladle, wet your hair and body. Only use one, no more than two, ladles full to do so or you will not have enough water to finish the bucket-shower experience. Next, shampoo your hair. It is best to use a two-and one shampoo-conditioner for this. If you only have the two separately, it is best to save conditioning for another day when you have more water at your disposal. When you are done lathering, do not rinse. Now, dip your loofa (or whatever cleaning device you have) into the water and apply soap. Cleanse your body. By this point, you should have used no more than 3 ladles full of water. If you need to shave, do so now. If you brush your teeth in the shower, also do so now. Once you are done with just about everything you need to accomplish in this cleansing experience, use all but the last ladle of water in the bucket to rinse yourself clean. It is best to start rinsing your hair first and let the water that drizzles down rinse off your body… or you may end up in the awkward situation of having shampoo left in your hair. Once you have finished and have towelled dry, it is best to mop up the area around where you have bucket-showered and rinse of any remaining soap-suds with the last ladle of water left in your bucket.”

“the internet at school has been down for just about all of last week, and again today. When I finally decided it was worth it to pay to use an internet café, the power went out. I am now also 6 for 7 for bucket showers because the water is always turned off. “

“ I would give almost anything to read Le Petit Prince right now”

“Spring break 2007 I went to Minnesota to visit Katie and we ate super healthy and worked out like it was our job. The rest of the semester I was vegan and worked out for an hour (minimum) every single day—I had never felt better (physically, mentally, and emotionally) in my entire life. I think my experience here in Senegal—having to walk in the extreme heat every single day and eating a diet of rice and baguette at every single meal—has propelled me in the exact opposite direction of where I was spring 2007; I feel nauseous every other day for the entire day, dizzy just as frequently, and snappy at a moments notice. Every opportunity I have to eat vegetables and fruit, I do… only to feel even more like shit because my body doesn’t know what to do with all these foreign nutrients. Also, it is not advisable for me to take my multivitamin on an empty stomach as that will only perpetuate my feeling of nausea.”

“I feel unchallenged academically and like my tuition money is going to waste. In the spirit of trying to stay positive, maybe this is an opportunity for me to take my first break in long time… just to learn, instead, what it means to not work on a militant schedule, what it means to not capitalize on every opportunity given to me.”

“learning what fun can be enjoyed with just the simple things in life is what I think has been most pertinent this week. Yves likes to stand in the middle of the living room, spin in circles, and fall face flat on the ground—the whole time laughing like he’s having the time of his life. When he’s not doing this, he gathers all of his ten or so stuffed animals and places them next to me, jumps up and lies on the coach, and tells me to cover him with all the stuffed animals. When I’m done, all I can see are the teletubbies, rabbit, and panda bouncing up and down as he giggles beneath his creation.”

The Typical Day

My alarm clock goes off at 7:21 am but I usually get woken up three times before it goes off-- twice by the call to prayer blasting on speakerphone from the local mosque (it is Ramadan, afterall, and I am in a Muslim country) and at least once by most host brothers screaming at the top of their lungs just because thats what they do when they wake up each morning.

I get ready in about 15 minutes by getting dressed, brushing my teeth, and applying exorbitant (yet necessary) amounts of 30% < deet. Then, I sit down on my stool at the 2ft high table and eat a typical French breakfast complete with cafe au lait and bagette and "vache qui sourit"-cheese. I leave the house by 7:50 latest and meet Shanah and Stephen across the dirt soccer field by the Cocacola stand. We then walk together to the bus terminal ten minutse away where we meet up with Allison. While we sit on the bench waiting for bus #10 to arrive, a group of 3 or so talibe boys will come and ask for money.

Once the bus comes, we run onto the bus with the crowd of passengers and throw our stuff onto a seat. Then we pay 150fCFA (30 or so cents) to the money collector and reclaim our seats. The bus usually gets pretty full by the time we need to get off, so thats always a task in itself. So far I haven't missed my stop yet, knock on wood.

Class starts at 9am at the WARC. Sometimes the power works, sometime it doesn't. More often than not, the internet is down. At some point in the day, we grab lunch. Some people walk down the road for 15 or so minutes to the MyShop for western style food while others walk the complete opposite direction to the supermarket for cheaper eats. I usually go to a stand right outside of WARC because I am lazy as hell and have no desire to walk far in 90 degree heat. There I buy a baguette and fanta orange (though I prefer fanta Cocktail), the drink of choice in this country.

Classes go until 6pm. On the days when they don't, I like to go to the beach with whoevers willing to accompany me. I need to find a new beach though, as the last one Ive been going to has little boys who throw rocks at Toubabs like me.

After I take the bus all the way to the end of the line where we started in the morning, we walk home repeating our salutations to people passing by. We've developed some sort of cordial relationship with sidewalk regulars, and now greet them everytime they are hanging around-- Mamadou being one of them.

I usually get home between 7 and 730. Right when I step through the door, I make sure to greet each family member and ask about their day (this is very important in Senegal). Then I play soccer in the courtyard with my two host brothers for a while until I go take a shower. Last week I was 6 for 7 in bucket showers. Shortly after I finish my shower, we have dinner.

Dinner consists of sitting around the same 2ft high table from breakfast. In the middle of the table is one large platter which everyone eats from. You have to eat only from the section directly in front of you usually with a fork or spoon (as opposed to traditional Senegalese meals which are eaten with your bare hands).

After dinner, I usually sit in the living room while the kids watch French cartoons. And like that, my night wraps up and before I know it, a new day begins.

A Dogged Day

The day started today for me when a fly nose dived into my face. I didnt know what time it was, but the house was quiet, so it had to still be early. I tried falling back asleep, but no luck. I reached for my alarm clock to see what time it was, and when I saw, I jumped out of bed. Even though my alarm failed to go off, I was only running 4 minutes off schedule. Thank god for the Kamakazee fly.

While I sped across the soccer field to meet Shanah and Stephen, I saw that they were talking to Mamadou, the new friend I made the other day. As I approached the group of people, we exchanged our salutations. Mamadou continued to talk and we stood and listened. We were now running late for our 8am bus, but there was nothing we could do because we did not want to be rude.

Eventually we got to the bus station, but had missed our normal bus. We sat and caught the later one and still got to school with time to spare.

Classes were shitty and everyone was in a terribly grumpy mood. The internet didn't work again (which is why i'm wasting my money yet again tonight at a cyber cafe) and I'm ashamed to say that I'm almost certain that this is why everyone was crabby as hell. Sarcasm and cynicism were so strong that one person even choose to leave to "get some air" in order to stay level-headed.

When we were walking home, in the forefront of a pack of dogs were two dogs fucking. According to Shanah, when the dog cums, he stays in the female dog, but un-mounts. Well, I guess that was what was happening while another dog from the pack decided to mount the bitch. Yes, she was being gang raped.

On the bus ride home, to our surprise, the bus was practically empty. As for the actual bus ride, I'm pretty positive the driver had played Grand Theft Auto before coming to work, because lane markings did not exist in his mind. Now, Senegalese (like many developing countres) driving is usually pretty scary, but by no means as horrifying as this guy was. Cars were swerving away from our bus and at one point I even saw a pedestrian DIVE out of its way.

This was one weird day in Senegal, and it was only made weirder by the fact that literally every other Senegalese person I talked to was picking his or her nose. See my next entry for a glimpse into my average day in Senegal.

what praytell is de shoe doing?

After 3 hours of Wolof class Friday, I went to the beach with a few people. We found another beach in Mermose (sp?), this time one that looked like a legit beach, but with far fewer people... absolutely none of which were women. We left all our stuff with Robbie (there just so happens to almost always be a token guy in the group who gets to act like the overbearing husband of his multiple wives) and jumped into the water. Within seconds, this creepy guy and two little boys came up to us. The guy tried getting us to go swimming into the deeper parts with him. At one point he grabbed my arm and tried pulling me in; at another he grabbed Drayden's waiste. After persistently telling him to leave us alone, he finally stopped harassing us after maybe fifteen minutes. The two little boys hung around, but they were really chill so I could care less. The waves were huge and a bit overpowering. Regardless, Eva, myself, and one of the little boys stayed in the water and rode out the waves. Everyone else left the water because they kept getting their knocked over or their tops knocked off.

Afterwards, we walked to Mairead's house which is motherfucking ridiculous. It was nicer than many of the mansions Ive seen in the US and honestly probably twenty times bigger than the house I am currently living in. We didnt get to really meet any of her family, but she assures us that theyre really cool. Maybe next time.

Last night, my host family had guests over. From what I was told, they were the brothers of Papa Jean-Claude. If I haven't double counted faces, Papa apparently has a shitton of brothers and cousins... that or they just refer to every friend as family. We ate a meatball and mashpotato like mix. During the meal, we had some beers (royal dutch-- pretty watery stuff) and lots of fanta. People love fanta here (and yes, i am now drinking soda again). After everyone had left and I was helping everyone clear off the table, she remarked that there was unfinished beer and insisted that I finished it all.

Later that night, I went on a night stroll with everyone in my host family except my host mom. Julien kept asking me to sit on my shoulders-- and had he not been pinching me the entire time to get my attention and I not been sunburned on my neck and shoulder-- I wouldve gave him one. For the first time every, I didnt get hissing sounds or "toubab" screamed at me... most likely because I was with a legit Senegalese man.

The other day, I went home alone. As I walked up to the busstop, there was a man already sitting there also waiting for the bus. We said our normal salutations and he made maybe 30secs of small talk. During an awkward silence, some random chinese guy walked up to me and started to speak to me in Mandarin. He was friendly at first, asking me about why I was in Senegal, where I was from, etc etc... but in the end he was no different than any of the men who sit on street corners professing their love to every toubab who walks by. When the bus finally came, I said a terse goodbye and got on. To my surprise, the first guy I had talked to bought my bus ticket. I didnt want to accept it, but I also didnt want to make a huge deal... especially with my limited Wolof/French skills. So, I just said "thank you".

Because Im Studying Public Health...

I noticed just earlier this week that my host mother is pregnant. You think to yourself, no big deal... right? But no- she just got out of the hospital due to Malaria. This makes me very nervous for the baby...

Also, we had another Malaria scare this week. Yves, the youngest (3), was showing all the symptoms of "Palu" (as they call it-"Palu" is short for Paludisme... the French translation of Malaria): He had a fever and runny nose. His symptoms have since then subsided, thankfully not escalating to alarming rates. That settled, my host father now has the flu.

I cant figure out if the Melfoquine is acting up again, or if there is legit weird shit going down outside my house. Ive been woken up two times this week, once from the sound of someone sobbing; the second from someone screaming. The scream, mind you, was so scary that I was left lying in my bed feeling paralyzed. Part of me hopes that these are all just hallucinations just because I dont want to be living in the type of neighborhood that would welcome events that would trigger such a terrible scream... but at the same time... I would hate to know that the medicine is messing with my mind again.

Also, I think I got a minor case of sun poisoning yesterday... After spending the entire afternoon walking around town, I came home and was unreasonably tired and felt like vomiting for quite some time--- though that never happened. Im 100% better now, but also very sunburned.

Cool Cats, Lame Fish

<-- My host brothers Yves and Julien


My host parents, Ive decided, are awesome. I still cant figure out why two young parents with two young children would possibly want to take on the burden of hosting an exchange student. But the only conclusion Ive come up with thus far, is that they're baller.

I think I get along the best with my host father... or at least, I communicate better with him than my host mother. I admire her because she clearly is the one who wears the pants in the house... but we never seem to be on the same page- which is most likely just something caused by my ineptitude in speaking French/ Wolof. My host father is very soft spoken, at times reminding me of my "biological" father (as us MSID participants have started calling our families in the US) at home. I think the fact that hes studied in France somehow makes him more understanding of my struggles to communicate/ adapt.

Ive noticed lately that Ive been a lot quieter (if not borderline recluse) than usual, in fact, ive kinda been that way all summer. I cant decide if its something temporary or just something im transitioning into. Last night, for instance, instead of going out with everyone to Robbie's, all I wanted to do was paint. Did I have the resources? No. Instead, I just had a perfectly meditative night just relaxing and introspect-ing.

Senegalese Proverbs

"Fen way defar moo gena degg wuy yaq"
Translation: lies that build are better than truth that destroys.

"Xuro amul, nakk waxtaana am"
Translation: Incomprehension does not exist, just miscommunication.

"Eey rabbit, do not pee where mom prays. Eey mom, do not pray where the rabbit pees."
Already translated.

In many rural villages, children are brought up to memorize proverbs similar to these. The Fulaani people, for instance, expect that by age eight, their children will have the majority of these oral proverbs stored in their memory bank-- perfectly memorized, with no room for stuttering or error. Take the last proverb, for instance: to mix up the words would be a huge insult to one's mother-- at least, by Fulaani standards-- and thus, would bring great shame to the family. By age twelve, students are expected to be able to use the oratory skills thye have developed in order to formulate their own speeches. All this memorization of proverbs and speech practice is crucial to a saying they hold very seriously:

''Your speech is like water-- once you pour out your words, you can't take them back."

Birds in flight

Sitting in Wolof class, the unusally dark sky for the time of day caught my eye. My attention shifted from the salutations written in Wolof on the washboard to the view out the door as the darkening sky consumed what little was left of daylight. At first, one, then flocks, of birds filled the sky. Their foreboding presence grew larger as they flew closer in our direction. Madame Sow followed my line of vision and asked "est-ce qu'il va pleurir?" As I described the rapidly fleeing birds, the trees maybe half a mile down the row started to toss violently in the wind. Just as the birds made their way over us, i heard a large crashing sound. As we turned to see the window shattered, my head jerked the opposite direction as the door slammed shut by that same powerful force of wind. We all did our "oohs" and "ahhs" and then marvelled at the broken glass on the chair of the girl sitting next to me. After we concluded that she was not hurt--not even a scratch, both she and i moved our chairs away from the broken window to the other end of the table. Madame Sow continued on with phrases in Wolof and we resumed repeating her every word. And like that, we continued class as if the birds never fled, as if glass didn't break, as if the door did not slam-- as if academia could shelter us from the violent winds waiting to greet us for our walk home.

Hurricane Season

(me at home before I left. Minus the outfit, this is all that I brought with me to Senegal).

I didnt sleep much the first night at my homestay because it was probably 90 degrees in the room and what would've been considered a hurricane by American standards was blowing past my window. In fact, at one point in the night, i had to get out of bed to move everything from one side of the room to the other because of the rain coming through my open window. One would think that the logical thing to have done would've been to simply close the window; however, it was honestly so hot that that was in actuality not even an option. I would love to sleep naked if that were an option but people walk in and out of my room as they wish, therefore, it would be a bit awkward. Even the nights when mosquitos are out in masses, I choose to keep my window open--- yes, i would rather get malaria than to bare the scorching heat.

Speaking of which, for the first three days of my homestay, there was just Amy (the maid), Papa Jean-Claude, and my two host brothers Julien et Yves. Maman Isabelle had been in the hospital because she was suffering from malaria. Here, they call malaria "paludisme" or "Palu" for short. Thankfully, she is better now and back at home.

Home life is exhausting. My two host brothers are three and four-- very cute, mais ils me fatiguent. Ive been struggling with a vastly different concept of privacy in Senegal.. basically learning that privacy does not exist. All my things have been rummaged through and studied by the two boys and i honestly have to push the boys out of my room if i need to change or out of the bathroom if i need to use it.

Like all boys their age, they are full of energy. So far our bonding has consisted of playing soccer, putting together puzzles and building a car. The boys are really fond of kicking the ball into doors and aim to make the loudest crashing sound as possible. When I tried to help Julien build a model car, he refused to give me the pieces I needed, yet demanded that i finish making him the car. Also like children their age, the two also ask questions incessantly. This works well for me, however, because they usually ask each question four or five times, so if i don't catch what they're saying the first time, i usually get it by the second or third.

I never imagined just how tiring speaking and learning languages could be. Despite the fact that all classes are taught in French, that French is spoken at home (for the most part), and all newspapers are written in French, my French is improving at a snails rate... or at least thats how I feel. We had our first Wolof class the other day. I am picking up on that at an even slower rate. So far I can confidently use the greeting "asalaa maalikum" (in which you respond to with maalikum salaam), but that doesnt really count as anything because you just repeat what the other has said to you in reverse ... and its not even French nor Wolof: its Arabic. I kind of have "nanga def" down, which means "how are you" in Wolof and in which one replies with "maangi fi rekk", meaning "I am here in peace, I am fine".

Outside of being tired all the time and practically welcoming malaria, i've been working really hard to take care of myself. Ive been keeping up with all my vitamins, hand washing all my clothes daily (there's no other option), obsessively spraying bug spray, and taking showers daily if not more often. This all sounds really silly to state, but given the absence of water, the jam packed schedule, and the horrifying insect to air molecule ratio, its all an enormous feat. The water that comes out of the shower head is no more than the thin stream that comes out of the weakest faucet in the US. I wash all my clothes while showering in order to conserve water, so not to be a huge burden on my host family. At times, the water just stops working while Im in the shower or using the bathroom. After I wash my clothes, I hang them up outside to dry on a clothing line. Its always a gamble to do so. I could hang it up in my room, but the humididty trapped in there causes the clothing to take forever to dry. When I hang my clothes on the clothing line outside, there is always the looming possibility that the (almost) daily rain storms will get to my clothes before i do.

They tell me to expect far worse in terms of weather during the month of October-- that's apparently when its supposed to be the worst. I cannot imagine what worse could possibly be in terms of weather, but i know to keep an open mind and to remain unfathomably flexible.

Yesterday after a field trip around all of dakar ( the capitol of senegal in which i reside for the first half of the program), a few of us decided to go to the beach. When we got there, to our dismay, we saw that there was only one other girl amongst a sea of boys. Its was probably one of the more awkward exchanges i've had here thus far--- the minute they caught sight of us they started screaming "toubab"-- a phrase we hear often meaning French speaking person, or really, non black person. As we walked closer to the beach, they started to follow us. As we dressed down to our bathing suits, one boy said to Eva, one of the girls I was with, " je t'aime", meaning i love you. As we stood floating in current of the ocean, another boy came up and tried to touch (as in pet) yet another girl, Licia, that i was with.

Though I'm sure i sound aggitated, i assure you that i am not as dissatisfied with this experience as i am coming off as. I am merely tired beyond comprehension, frustrated of being treated differently because of my skin color, sweating through my clothes, and dizzy as hell just because. I am happily absorbing tons from this unique culture and grateful for every encounter (however awkward it may be) that finds me.